Bard gave the gathered crowd in the ballroom a brief glance before following Haldir up a long, winding sweep of stairs. The carpeting muffling his steps probably cost more than his entire flat. The place, wide and airy as it was, crowded around Bard, stifling and chill.
He pushed up the police barrier, holding it for Haldir to slip under. A mess. An utter mess.
A large, delicate vase had shattered along the wooden floor, chips of pale blue porcelain embedded in the gleaming surface. It made an artificial barrier for the pool of blood congealing under the brilliant lights.
He squatted down, frowning. An elf. Age would have to wait for an autopsy given the sprightly race’s appearance of immortality. Long brown hair half-covered his face but couldn’t hide the ugly gash that had once been his throat.
He held up a hand, taking the pen Haldir offered. Using it, he lifted a patch of hair, examining what he could of the wound. Deep and ugly. Violent. Still squatting down, he looked up, examining the walls. The one opposite was sprayed with dark, ugly blotches. If the poor bastard was lucky, he’d passed out before he had a chance to suffer.
“Any witnesses?” He rose then, grimacing as his knees protested.
Haldir shook his head. “Mr. Ballant was seen arguing with another patron during the play’s intermission and then he stormed off.” He gestured toward the elf in service attire. “The young lady there was making her rounds when she found him.”
“You will likely wish to speak to the play’s director; he took . . . umbrage with some of the casting.”
Bard half-turned, squinting. “I’m sorry?”
The elf lifted an eyebrow and gestured toward the ruined body. “Mr. Ballant. He is -- was -- very particular about how he expected plays to run.” He frowned. “Still, to get killed over it?”
“And you are?” Bard asked, annoyed. Never failed; any murder investigation with a crowd had one or two who thought themselves sleuths. Granted, this one was far better to look at than most had been. Didn’t mean that Bard was willing to waste time listening to asinine theories.
“Thranduil Oropherion. Charmed, I’m sure.”
Bard balked. He’d heard that name before. It tumbled about his brain until Haldir hissed, “He, uh, owns the building.”
Oh, for valar’s sake, he thought. Plastering a smile, Bard remarked, “Mr. Oropherion, if you could --”
Thranduil waved a hand again toward the body. “You did happen to see the bit of tie in his hand, hm?”
Bard turned just enough to catch the corpse in the corner of his eye and indeed, a scrap of shining blue fabric peeked out from the folded fingers. Fuck. “Thank you, Mr. Oropherion. Now, if you wish to --”
“Thranduil, Detective.” He smirked. “I am more than willing to offer my assistance.” He folded his arms and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s not likely the killer went back among the guests; not with that blood spray.” He shoved the police tape aside and sauntered closer, pointing down the hall. “Service elevator that way. Leads directly to the loading dock.”
“Do you mind?” Bard growled, losing the faint control of his temper.
His heart stuttered at Thranduil’s sly smirk. “Of course not; I’d be delighted.”
It was far too late in the day for this load of tripe. “Stand still, dammit; stay out of my crime scene!”
Thranduil turned, folding his hands at the small of his back. He blinked in mock innocence. “Or what? Will you arrest me, Detective.” His lips curled in amusement. “I am not in your crime scene, truth be told.” He inclined his head toward the two women and three men behind him. “In fact, I’m no closer than your press happen to be.”
“He has a point,” Haldir remarked.
“Traitor,” Bard muttered. He marched to Thranduil. “Stand here and don’t move. I’ll need a statement from you later.”
“Of course.” Thranduil moved aside and Bard managed to get nearly a foot away before he added, “Oh, it might be worth noting that he was in massive debt.”
Bard took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Let this case be a quick one.” Last thing he needed was any more help from Thranduil Oropherion.
